


Kisses on the necks of best friends

by Holy_Smokes_Pete



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Making Up, Smut, Wake-Up Sex, general cuteness, yay for fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holy_Smokes_Pete/pseuds/Holy_Smokes_Pete
Summary: Pete and Patricks' life together, told through the eyes of Pete Wentz; Rockstar, millionaire, #1 fan of Patrick Stump.He flopped onto 'his' side of the bed where Patrick was spread out onto half of it.  Hemingway followed suit, sitting on both of his dads."... 'Your' side my ass." Pete scoffed out. closing his eyes, wrapping one of Patrick's limp arms around his side.





	1. All things except lonely

**Author's Note:**

  * For [momiji_neyuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/momiji_neyuki/gifts).



> Gifted to my A03 mom Momiji, queen of tease, and ruler of all things twisted and smutty, 'cause without you, I wouldn't be writing this right now <3
> 
> I will updating this irregularly, it's existence is just purely to make me smile. If others smile along with me, that's a bonus.

It was getting late. How late? Fuck knows. Pete left the studio, waving his goodbyes to a slightly stoned Joe. He fumbled with his car keys until he finally managed to click open the door. Slipping clumsily inside, the half-drunk Pete slumped onto his seat, blinking in a haze. He pulled out of the car park and drove.

Pete wasn't the safest driver, even when sober, so to say he was under-performing now would be a colossal understatement.

After what seemed like a couple of minor bumps, which were actually much more than that, Pete pulled into the drive of his Chicago townhouse. When he got out, the door slammed shut, and he cringed, hoping that 'tricky didn't hear that. Patrick was probably asleep already, and he was a heavy sleeper, but very cranky if woken up. After tip-toeing up to the front door, Pete began to unlock it, forgetting about Hemingway who unleashed an ungodly amount of noise when he started scratching at the door and whining, anxious to see his dad. Quickly, Pete unlocked the door and was greeted by his faithful mutt, by being knocked over and his face licked all over.

"Hem, i love you too buddy, but that's gross! CUT IT OUT!" He whisper-shouted as he stroked the dog's ear.

As if by magic, the dog understood, and backed off, allowing Pete time to jump back to his feet.

"Fack. Good boy, Hem!" He stroked his dog and signalled him to follow. 

He walked through the kitchen, dropping his bag off of his shoulders, and unzipped his hoodie. He shrugged it off as he walked to the hall, and kicked off his dirty-ass chucks simultaneously. He pulled off his socks, hopping as he went, then unbuckled his pants, sliding them off with ease. Pretty soon, he was in just his Metallica shirt from high school, the one with all the moth bites, and his boxers. Anxiously, the man stood with one hand hovering over his bedroom door. With the other, he ran it through the -week old- stubble on his chin and mentally prepared himself for if Patty cakes was, in fact, awake. He cracked open the door, waiting for a "well well well" or a "Goddamn it Pete!", but it remained silent. He flung the door the rest of the way out and made a contempt sigh as he waltzed in, with Hemingway on his tail. He flopped onto 'his' side of the bed where Patrick was spread out onto half of it. Hemingway followed suit, sitting on both of his dads.

"... 'Your' side my ass." Pete scoffed out. closing his eyes, wrapping one of Patrick's limp arms around his side.

It was just as Pete was dozing off that he heard a loud and VERY grumpy sounding voice speak up, 

"PETER LEWIS KINGSTON WENTZ THE THIRD! How DARE YOU! I told you SPECIFICALLY NOT to go out and get high, but i suppose that rule doesn't apply when you think I'm asleep, huh? Also, YOU ARE DRUNK, and you DROVE home? Don't play coy with me! I heard the damn door slam on the Benz! I swear if our car has a single, SOLITARY SCRATCH ON IT, YOU are a DEAD MAN! You left the lights on in the hall, like i asked you NOT to do THOUSANDS of times! I mean C'MON! Finally, your... Beast is on OUR bed!" He yelled, all in one breath.

"B- But, you like Hemmy!" Pete protested. Hemingway snarled in protest and covered his snout with the covers. Pete swears that that dog can understand English.

"Like him?! Are you- No, yaknow what, I'm sleeping on the couch, I-"

"Baby, calm down, please," Pete held onto Patrick's wrists, staring into his eyes, "Hem can leave, and I'm sorry about sneaking out on ya baby, I didn't smoke though, i swear! Look, smell my-"

"No! No. I believe you. You stink of rum, though. Bad Petey!" Patrick giggled, and Pete visibly relaxed. There's the kid he fell in love with. He shooed Hem, and the dog got down grumpily.

Pete leaned in, telling Patrick how sorry he was, but not with so many words. His lips grazed the shell of Patrick's ear, making the boy turn a beautiful shade of red, still as shy as the first kiss they shared almost 16 years ago. Pete nibbled on his earlobe, knowing it was the younger man's weak spot. He moved down slowly, attempting to give 'Ricky a hickey ('hey, that rhymed!' Pete mused in his head) but he was interrupted when 'Trick giggled, laughing and telling Pete they weren't teenagers anymore. Pete agreed, but continued anyway. He sucked on the other man's collarbone and left a trail of red marks as he went. He pulled Patrick's shirt up, over his head which allowed him to carry on, kissing as he went, until he reached his nipple. For a split second, Pete wished he had his tongue piercing back, Patrick used to love this when he had that. He started licking the sensitive skin, making the boy go an even deeper shade of red than previous. Patrick soon started letting out suppressed moans caused by Pete being a tease -as always- and bit his lip to hide it. For a top, Patrick was awfully feminine. Moving on, Pete skipped to Patrick's waistline, nibbling and kissing just above his belt as he unbuckled it swiftly. Now Pete wasn't one to kiss and tell -HAHAHA- but Patrick had a NICE dick. For maybe the millionth time since they met, Pete first grabbed the shaft with both hands -yeah, i know, right?- and sucked on the tip tenderly, as if he was savouring it, because he was. Pete was a self-confessed "Cockslut." as he likes to put it. #Bottom4lyfe and other things which are relatable to people who like it up the ass. He started to go deeper and pretty soon had his nose right up against Patrick's hips. Pete was a little drunk, just a little, so he kept going, not giving a single fuck anymore. Patrick started to thrust up into Pete's mouth with reckless abandon, Pete taking it like a champ. After a while, Patrick's thrusts started stuttering and becoming irregular, so Pete hungrily carried on, making Patrick cum straight down his throat. Patrick let out a guttural groan, indicating that he MAY have enjoyed that. Pete smirked smugly, wiping his mouth with his forearm and flopping onto 'Tricky's belly head first. They both curled into each other.

"I love you, Pete." Patrick mumbled out, his voice blocked by Pete's hair, which was all up in his face.

"I love you too, 'Tricky." Pete smiled tiredly to himself, as Patrick pressed a gentle kiss to his crown.

It was quiet for a moment, until Patrick asked, "Your turn?" but was instantly shot down. 

"Nope, that was all you sugar. We should get some sleep, you gotta go get working on that new song of yours with Andy 6AM sharp!"

"Ugh, don't remind me...," Patrick said with a yawn and then, more to himself, he confessed, "Best wake-up sex ever."

Not 5 minutes later, the boys were snoring, and Hemingway had jumped back up almost instantly.

x-----(5:55AM Next day)------>

A dishevelled Patrick stuck his head round the bedroom door to ask a snoozing Pete where the car keys were. Pete forced his head up a few inches from the pillow, to allow him to speak clearly.

"Huh? Oh, right, back pocket, jeans from last night." Pete groaned and slammed his head, full force back into the pillow, hoping to sleep some more.

Patrick nodded and stepped back out, and Pete soon heard jingling, a sign of a successful search effort made by his one and only.

The door slammed as Patrick yelled his goodbyes, and Pete gave a half assed reply.

Not moments later, Pete heard the unmistakable sound of the rare ultra-pissed Patrick's call sound from the driveway. He jumped up instantaneously. It took Pete a second to remember...

"SHIT! THE CAR!"


	2. The ENTIRE Bobby Brown Catalogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S'more fluff, IT'S ALL I KNOW!
> 
> The title is from "band lip reading - fall out boy" which males me laugh so damn much.

Pete's eyes cracked open, hesitant, blinded by sunlight. He growled, gripping a corner of his duvet and burrowing his face into it. Just 5- no, 10 more minutes. Please? He clamped his tired eyes shut, praying for sleep, until he sniffed up. Pete's mouth watered, threatening to dribble all over. What was that heavenly scent? He grunted, snuffling and attempting to ignore the smell- the gorgeous, silky smell- which was probably coming from the kitchen. He reached out his arm, Patting "Patrick's side" of the bed, but really, the whole bed was Pat's bed. He wasn't one for sharing. No sign of the smaller man. Pete pouted and furrowed his brow. Sighing, he accepted his inevitable fate and pushed the covers away, making his whole body shudder from the morning chill.

He regretfully pushed himself up off of the mattress, stomping over to his- no, their- NO, Patrick's wardrobe. Patrick did not share, half of the space was taken up by a variety of hats and tasteful bow-ties. His gaze wandered to the slim section of dark and gloomy clothes which took up a tenth of the space. His eyes scanned for the perfect shirt, grumpily yanking it onto his bear chest as he grumbled hateful words towards the scorching sun which lit up his room and disturbed his slumber. The perfectly black and dull shirt would go perfectly with some equally black and dull jeans, Pee thought, so he pulled on those too. Still bitter from his rude awakening, still aiming to find the source of the magnificent smell, Pete trudged down the hall to the kitchen.

He paused.

The most beautiful sound in the world- Patrick. He was belting out a Whitney Houston song, holding a wooden spoon close to his mouth to act as a microphone. He was wearing a shirt, just a shirt, stood in the kitchen, swaying his hips. God, he looked beautiful. Pete stood in the doorway, in awe, as Pat's back was turned, his head held high to belt out the chorus;

"Don't make me clo-ose one more door,  
I don't wanna hurt anymo-o-ore,  
Stay in my a-arms if you dare,  
Or must I imagine you the-e-ere?  
Don't walk away from me, NO, don't walk away from me-e-e  
I have nothing, nothing, nothing  
If I don't have you."

Pete stared, eyes transfixed as if it was the first time he'd heard that voice before. Still beautiful as the day they had met. As Patrick continued to sing, stirring the contents of a pan on the oven (maybe that was the heavenly scent?!) Hemingway joined in, bow-owing along. Pete grinned, looking down at his puppy.

"How long have you been stood there, P?" Patrick mused, disturbing Pete from his thoughts. He looked guilty, caught red handed stalking Pat, again.

"Uhmm, too long?" He laughed nervously, Patrick just giggled and pointed to the dining table. He nodded in agreement and practically pounced on the dining area, anticipating the delicious smelling food.

"I was kinda hoping you'd stayed in bed, but this way I don't have to wake you up myself. You're so cute when you're asleep, P. Why aren't you that cute all the time?" He grinned at his boyfriend, scraping the contents of the pan onto a plate. He repeated this, soon bringing the plate over to Pete.

Pete licked his lips, Pat placing the food in front of him. He planted a kiss on Pete's head, ruffling his hair and walking to the next room. Pete watched his ass as he walked (bare in mind he only had a baggy shirt on) and shook any possible dirty thoughts he was having out of mind, looking at his plate. It was a bacon and eggs smiley face. How adorable.

His meal was disturbed by a phone call. Pete grabbed his phone, 'Mom' flashing on screen. He sighed and picked up. 

"Y'ello?"


End file.
